


The Reaper's Way

by Purple_Blast



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Depression, Gen, Graphic Violence, Happy Memories, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, MM needs help, Major Characters deaths, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Nudity, One Shot, Past major character deaths, Sad with a Sad Ending, Sexual Content, Somewhere around Halloween, Spoiler Warning for The Boys Season 2, Vomiting, anger issues, billy is a mess, dark atmosphere, mention of harassment, sorry in advance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29561763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purple_Blast/pseuds/Purple_Blast
Summary: "His canary, the man he swore to protect was dead, because of his selfishness. He would go and visit his tomb once in a while but the plight was too important to bear. Eventually he left town, leaving his friends behind. He didn't want to hurt more of them."
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	The Reaper's Way

He clung onto her as if she was one moan away to disappear into thin air. But he kept on going, drawing as many physical reactions as he could from her frail body. In this bar, in this restroom, in this stall she was his and his only. He couldn't remember her name, not that it really mattered.

He finished himself as best as he could despite the dizziness taking a hold of him. He gave one last rough thrust and pulled away before he loosened his grip on her then moist shoulders. He flung the door open, leaving her very few choices but to leave fast and without a word. She forced a smile he did not even bother looking at.

Billy felt miserable. And he often felt that way after climaxing. All the build-up, the dirty pleasure spreading across his body and the brief and fake happiness animating his mind. All gone in a moan or two. It had become an habit. At least he was always in a different bar. He fastened his belt, still looking down at the floor as if he had been scolded. He tiptoed across the room and reached one of the sinks. The mirror above it was just as dirty and he caught an unfortunate glimpse of himself. He looked terrible and quite drunk. Billy grasped the sink forcefully. The pain he felt upon seeing his reflection was enough to dictate him to smash all the mirrors one by one. He could already feel the glass shattering under his knuckles, penetrating his skin until blood spurted out of his hands down the dirty white porcelain. The imaginary pain startled him to the point he threw up. He gargled some water to try and wash away the unpleasant taste but it wasn't enough.

He left the bar as if nothing had happened and disappeared into the night and into his motel room down the boulevard. It smelled of dust and dampness in there, and he could never get accustomed to it. It held that weird familiarity that gave him a sense of comfort though. He left his coat on the rack and let his clothes fall on the way to the bathroom. This one motel room had a tub, a rare occurrence. He let the water run down the bath until it dangerously reached the edge. He finally sat down, water overflowing down to the floor. It would dry up eventually. His muscles were sore and the warmth of the bath didn't suffice to ease the pain. His white skin was covered in bruises. Some new, some older. Some were dark blue, others were already turning purple, some here and there were oscillating between green and yellow. All carrying a different level of pain. From time to time, Billy would let himself slide down the tub until his face was completely submerged. Only then would the flashes come to him. He would see Becca, begging for her life as blood kept oozing out of her throat and her last breath with it. He would see his friends too, teaming up to lend him a hand. But each flash disappeared as oxygen became rarer and his lungs thumped against his ribs for a bit of fresh air. He emerged in a measured rush, almost reluctantly. He looked like a lost dog under a storm. Billy Butcher, the defeated man, the miserable.

Each night of each passing month he would find a way to kill himself a little more inside. Alcohol would take the lead and then he'd try to grasp a sense of reality by fucking the next person willing to let him drown his sorrow inside their most intimate parts. They were usually just as lost as him and Billy always bore that look that seemed to say "You're gonna have a great time, luv". They were always looking for some kind of weird adventure, perhaps a sense of belonging in these dirty stalls. There was this sort of silent and mutual agreement that the sufferings would not be talked about. They just needed someone to be deprived with for a few minutes and then they'd part ways, like the strangers they were to each other. Billy got up and grabbed a towel. It smelled like chemical lemon and it made his nostrils twitch. It wasn't too bad but it wasn't great either. He wrapped himself with it. The drain was clogged, the water would probably take hours to vanish. He sat down the edge of the bed. The dull furniture surrounding him only seemed to be a reflection of his own soul. He lied down next, and stared at the decaying wooden ceiling. Sleep fell upon his eyelids and he was gone for a few hours. Butcher woke up as the sun rose above town. It was early in the morning, 6am, maybe 7. He couldn't tell precisely. A fresh breeze slid inside the room from under the door. He had fallen asleep half naked, the wet towel still around his waist. He got up from the mattress, pain striking his lower back. His grunts filled the room as he reached for a cigarette. The towel had long abandoned him on the bed and he was standing there, in front of the window. It was too early for people to pass by his window and so he didn't bother dressing up. Nothing bad with showing a bit of skin, eh. He heard it was healthy, sleeping naked and all. He looked down at his body, flexing his stomach in and out, and brushing the hair down his navel. He glanced further down. He hadn't trimmed around there, but no one seemed to care. After all he would always go at it doggy style, that left no space for comments from his numerous partners. Not that he would take their hair preferences into consideration. Even Becca didn't mind.

An unexpected movement caught his attention. He stared into the distance only to find a ginger cat throwing paws with a small bird beyond the parking lot. He couldn't tell what it was, perhaps a sparrow. And it hadn't been spared by the hungry beast. He chuckled. He too was hungry. What would be his next prey? Cheap whisky or rancid beer? He thought of the vending machine he had seen yesterday when checking in. The machine buzzed and a chocolate bar fell. He was certain he had gone for a crisp bag instead. He shrugged, that would probably do too. In two bites it was over, same with that bird, he thought. The sugar tickled the back of his throat. Water, he needed water. He headed back inside his room. He noticed the dirty water was still stagnating down the tub. He went for the tap and gulped down a full plastic cup of lukewarm water. The plumbing was just as derelict as the rest.

That's when his phone rang.

A familiar song spread across the room. He stood there, forgetting how to pick up, how to even walk. The melody faded. Butcher took the phone that was face down on the nightstand. He expected another call, or a text. But nothing came. If he wanted to call back, he'd need to think of an excuse, a reason why he went missing. Perhaps MM only called to make sure that his phone was still working. Billy had left town for two months. It seemed he had left only a day before. He wasn't eager to come back. And unless shit hit the fan he wouldn't be needed. Not that he would come if called. When he made up his mind about something, few people could change his plans.

The streets had been deserted. Only the orange leaves were swirling around on the pavement in a strange fashion. Life was buzzing inside the shops but he didn't dare enter. He knew he would disrupt the peaceful meetings. He was like a Grim Reaper with a banal appearance. Not extravagant enough to be remarked but carrying with him such a violent aura people would have no choice but to turn around and stare. A group of children burst out of the shop he was just passing, their laughs filled the air. They were dressed as their favorite heroes, he saw one dressed as Homelander, another dressed as Starlight and some other role models he didn't recognize. He watched them as they crossed the street. Billy felt pity, but after all, they were only kids, they couldn't know. He wanted to yell something at them, something like "You'll regret this in some years" but it wouldn't make any sense, he had to keep his snarky comments to himself. His thoughts wandered until they reached the image of Ryan. The poor kid was probably just as lost as him. Hopefully he would turn out to be a good hero. But good heroes didn't seem to be an option in his world.

He sat down on a bench near the coffee shop. He took the phone out of his coat and contemplated it for a while. He could call MM. He could text Frenchie. Or he could destroy it and leave it in the trash can behind him. Or he could go hit on that wavy haired girl that had been staring at him ever since he put his ass on the bench. Calling his friend would be the most reasonable choice. He didn't mean to hurt them when he left and if he could avoid doing more damage months after they would be thankful, at best relieved. He kicked a can on his way down the walk, triggering a sigh from an old man up on his balcony. Billy stopped mid way. The rush of adrenaline across his limbs was usually a bad thing. He imagined himself up there, crushing the poor man's head across his impeccably clean window. Butcher took a deep breath and resumed walking. He would call MM. He needed a brief sense of stability. Despite being himself the leader, MM was the pillar, he was diplomacy, kindness, calm. Calm. The word seemed to come from a foreign language. He had forgotten what it meant ever since Becca disappeared.

He settled for a back street at the corner of a book shop and called. The ringing seemed to last for hours on his end.

"Butcher" Oh he didn't like it when it started this way. The tone was too harsh.

"Something happened, eh?"

"In those last few months? Yeah, definitely"

"You know damn well what I mean"

Sometimes he wished he could be hit on the back of the head. But he didn't like being gentle. Not anymore. Even if it made him look like a massive cunt in front of his friends. Showing a slight sign of weakness was too intimate for him.

"I need you to take care of someone for me. I'll text you the details. If...If you're willing to help. I know it's been a while but you're my last hope."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Okay. Okay. Great. Thanks man."

"Uh-uh"

There was a pause, a silence filled with all the remorse they wish they could express. All the regrets. He could hear MM breathing, as if he was about to add something more.

That's when Butcher hung up. He couldn't risk wallowing in the past. It was too late. He would take care of MM's problem and then, he'd disappear for real. This time without any means of communication. He went back to the motel and packed the few things he had brought with him. He awaited the text with great impatience. The text came. It was loud and clear: the target was a piece of shit. MM stayed measured in his words but Butcher knew. The man had harassed his little girl Janine many times when she would walk home. And even if it had just been a weird look one time, Billy would have reacted the same way. The man lived two hours away by car, Butcher would get going now, no questions asked. In three hours, the target would be dead, and sorry he even breathed near Janine.

MM described the man as rather average, not small, but not tall and quite thin. He looked like he could be a father but he didn't have any family. He thanked Billy one last time at the end of his text: "Thanks for playing guardian angel again. MM."

Guardian angel? Probably not. He was just doing what he knew best. Massacre cunts. Would that make him an angel? No. A devil disguised as an angel, perhaps. He started the car, then turned on the radio.

He switched through different channels. Nothing seemed good enough. He settled for a random one. It was silent for a few seconds. Then the music started.

"Only the lonely (dum-dumb-dummy doo-wah)

Know the way I feel tonight (ooh yay, yay, yay, yeah)

Only the lonely (dum-dumb-dummy doo-wah)

Know this feeling ain't right (dum-dumb-dummy doo-wah)"

The last time he had heard this song, he was on Becca's porch. They were sharing a beer. It was a bright night in August but she was wrapped in a red blanket. She had her right arm placed dangerously on his inner thigh. She would squeeze it every time he made a joke. The song was playing behind them, in the stereo in the living room. The door was wide open so the dog could come and go. They hoped some fresh air would enter as well. There was a meteor shower that night. Becca gasped every time a shooting star passed before her eyes. For a few seconds, she'd close her eyes and make a wish or two, changing her mind from time to time as she tried to create some hierarchy between the most important wishes and the trivial ones. Billy never believed in that but when that song came on the radio after so many years he wished he had thought of something great to manifest as the stars died in the sky.

The memory faded.

The lyrics came back more vividly.

"There goes my baby

There goes my heart

They're gone forever

So far apart"

And because that's how he was then he punched the radio. It drizzled under his fist, and died, and the melody with it. The few landscapes he drove by alleviated his mind a little but as October was slowly ending, so was the day. Night time came faster these days. He had witnessed a fabulous sunset. He hadn't bothered looking at one in years, mostly because he was almost always busy when that occurred. Then eventually it was just because of carelessness. It didn't bring him anything and he didn't always get people's eagerness to sit down and watch something that happened literally every day.

But, and he hated to admit it, the sunset that night was particularly impressive. It felt so out of tune with the reason why he was driving. He hadn't noticed at first but the address given by MM was familiar. That was a good thing, he didn't have to ask for directions and possibly put himself in danger. He was just a random citizen, driving around town, with an appointment to smash someone's brains in. After roaming the boulevards for a few minutes, he pulled in some driveway. A few blocks away from the target's neighborhood. It was 11pm. There was chatter far away but mostly the town was asleep. He walked a few miles and ended up in front of the house. He had to check the number of the street several times. The houses all looked the same and it would have been a shame to mistake an innocent person for the target.

The garden hadn't been kept clean, some plants were taller than the windows, but too thin to be a good hiding spot. Billy opted for the bushes, he wouldn't be seen so easily at night. Maybe heard, but they'd blame it on the wind. He made a swift move towards the back door and picked the lock as silently as he could. The moonlight washed away his shadow on the wooden floor. He took a few steps further inside the house, carefully balancing the crowbar on his right shoulder. This one house didn't seem to have an alarm, or cameras. His target was leaning on the counter of his poorly-lit kitchen. From what Billy could tell, he was alone. He stepped closer, holding his breath so the surprise would be even greater. The first hit smashed a glass near the man. He turned around in a high-pitched shriek. His fearful eyes met with a dark stare. He held up his hands as if imploring the Reaper would have any positive effect. The second hit penetrated the left knee of his victim. Then the right knee. He smashed and smashed until he moved on to face the begging man. He couldn't stop crying. Butcher then put the tip of the crowbar inside the man's mouth and pulled down with all his strength until it pierced through. The sight of blood rushed him to unleash the beast inside of him even more. He pulled his weapon away and bashed the head until it was nothing but bits of skin and teeth. In times like these he could only wish MM would be there to stop him but nothing could be done. The rage couldn't come out in another way but by taking the lives of the horrendous throughout the country.

At least, he was helping a friend.

It wasn't just a random target this time. He lit up a match and the whole house with it on his way out. That would save him enough time to flee the burning nightmare. Billy texted MM on the way back, it was done. It was over. The phone was trampled and thrown away in the sewers. The adrenaline wouldn't leave his body. He couldn't calm down. A mere bump in his plan and he would go berserk on the first person he saw. It was such an easy occurrence with him. He sat down in his car and drove some more hours until a broken motel sign flickered on his car window.

He parked, checked in and it all started again.

He would need to clean his shoes and change his shirt. He always had a few relatively clean ones in the trunk of his car. The clothes he was wearing had to be burned. He couldn't afford to get caught now that no one would ever come for him. The trunk was full of trash. There was this black sports bag hidden in the left corner. That's where he hid his weapons, carefully wrapped with a load of fresh clothes. He picked up a random shirt. When he went for a pair of jeans his forefinger bumped into something harder than the rest. It was a Billy Joel CD. The slight chuckle inside his throat came out as a disguised choke. It's like Hughie knew. Like he knew he would sooner or later perish and he did. But not without leaving a trace behind. Billy would never let him put the CD on inside his car. He wished he had. Not that the outcome would have been different if he had listened to one of these damn songs with him. He couldn't put his mind around the idea that he was gone. They had fought once again one afternoon and he let him go to a nightly meeting alone, where he had to figure it all out by himself. He was shot that very night. While Billy was too busy drinking his anger away.

His canary, the man he swore to protect was dead, because of his selfishness. He would go and visit his tomb once in a while but the plight was too important to bear. Eventually he left town, leaving his friends behind. He didn't want to hurt more of them. He slapped the trunk shut as if to tell his mind it needed to shut up.

Dwelling on the what ifs never did any good.

Butcher headed inside, his hand still holding onto the CD case. He sat down on the edge of the neatly arranged bed. He opened the CD case. The CD was unfortunately there but a piece of paper caught his attention. It almost unfolded by itself as if it couldn't wait any longer to be read.

"Hey ~~Billy~~ Butcher, It's Hughie, as you may have guessed - if you ever have a good reason to open a Billy Joel CD - well, if you see this, I just wanted to say thank you. Well, for helping me get over those terrible events. It wasn't always easy, far from it, but hey you've grown on me. I can only hope we'll have a chance to hang out more as friends, together, at some point. Away from all this Supes bullshit and all that. Well, anyway, hope this finds you well! Hughie.

PS: You should defo check out all these bangers, can't be worse than the Spice Girls ;)"

The words buzzed inside his mind. They twirled and twirled until his eyes became a foggy clutter. He suddenly sprung on the table facing him and cleared it from all the knick-knacks that were poorly attempting to decorate the room. Butcher banged and banged on the wood with both fists. And when they became too numb he faced the wall and hit his head several times in a desperate attempt to crush his skull.

He let himself slide down the wall.

The hardest part of the crisis had passed to leave room for the flood that submerged him, inside and out. The sobbing was deadly silent but loud was the suffering. Billy stayed curled up on the carpet, tears wetting the same dark spot. His heartbeats were ringing in his ears, overwhelming the sobs. And the induced numbness had frozen his eyes that were staring uninterrupted at the hidden dust balls under the nightstand.

He sat up after a while and took a few deep breaths before mechanically getting up and leaving the room. He didn't even care to change his clothes. The coat would probably be enough to hide the few stains from the eyes of the curious. There was a chill in the air that came washing over his wet cheeks as he set foot outside. He started walking on the side of the road straight to a bench he had noticed earlier because it was standing in a peculiar fashion, way too close to the road. It crossed a stone bridge that was indistinguishable from where he was a few minutes ago. The area was calm and no cars were passing by. He could only hear the chirping of the late birds that had not yet gone to sleep.

And then the thought crossed his mind. He had already thought about it, he could perfectly wrap his head around the idea, conceive it, make it palpable until it felt like he had gone through it already. What he liked most about it was that no one would know. At least for some time. A month at best. That would leave plenty of time for people to mourn until the news reached them. If it ever reached them. He wasn't linked to anyone, maybe a family member or two, but would they even be able to identify him? It didn't really matter. The rest would be history.

He first sat down on the cold stone of the bridge. Moonlight poured across the shining waters running down below his feet. His lower lip was shaking at every attempt to breathe slowly. His limbs were cold inside. Shakily, he stood of all his grandeur on the edge. An icy breeze kept crushing against his eyes. He kept blinking, trying to adjust his vision. But nothing was distinguishable anymore. For the first time in years, he felt fear. But it wasn't enough to make him turn around.

The only way was forward.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, don't hesitate to tell me what you thought of it!


End file.
